The Becoming
by Nevermore
Summary: Why does a transgenic super-soldier live her life as a courier? After an unexpected turn during a job for Logan, Max starts asking that very question (and others). (Complete.)
1. The Becoming, Prologue

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

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Author's First Note: This is the first story in a three-part series I've come to refer to as _The Justice Trilogy._ Keep in mind, however, that reading this story does not mean that you'll have to read the other stories in order to get some closure. The major threads of this tale are tied up, and it exists well enough on its own. So don't let the fact that this is the first story of three deter you at all from reading. Oh, and you should also feel free to review, especially if you have lots of good things to say. :)

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Author's Second Note: This story was begun during the first season, and thus none of the second season's plot developments are accounted for herein. In terms of chronology, you can assume that this took place anytime before 'Meow.'

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The Becoming

by

Nevermore

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Prologue

_Be careful on this one,_ Max thought, remembering Logan's warning. _He can be so cute when he's worrying about me,_ she mused with a smile. Despite Logan's apparent concern, though, the job had proceeded very smoothly so far. In fact, it had been so easy that even Max was starting to become nervous – it was all just too simple.

_No guards, and the security system was turned off,_ she noted. This was not the type of job she had expected. Norton Koch was supposedly one of the most nefarious men in Seattle, though it was likely that not a single one of the average residents of the city had ever heard his name. He was wealthy and influential but kept to the shadows, preferring to be the dagger behind the throne in order to avoid any kind of notoriety. _Or infamy, to be more precise,_ she corrected. According to Logan, Koch's list of crimes including drug trafficking, extortion, slavery, blackmail, industrial espionage, theft, gambling, and murder. With the way his penthouse apartment's defenses were put together, though, Max was actually surprised that anyone had even bothered to lock the door. She had yet to meet a single significant obstacle.

She moved into a large dining room, still listening for any noise that would betray the presence of one of the highly trained guards she had heard so much about. _They're all ex-special forces,_ Logan had warned her. Max knew that Logan had not wanted to send her on this assignment, but he had been left with no choice. Koch had his fingers into everything. If Logan could get Koch, he would not only be able to bring down one of the biggest bad guys in the city, he could probably also squeeze enough information out of the arch-criminal to bring down a couple of other lesser villains at the same time. It would be a great victory for truth, justice, and the American way.

A muffled thud coming from another room caught Max's attention, and she immediately curled up into a defensive position in a corner, allowing the shadows to conceal her presence. A moment later a door opened down the hall, and a cloaked figure, decked out all in black, walked into Max's view. _What the hell? This guy think he's Darth Maul, or what?_ Max wondered with amusement, remembering an old pre-Pulse movie that she had watched late one night with Logan.

The figure walked strangely, as if it was completely unconcerned with any guards, though Max was more than willing to bet that it did not belong there. She stood slowly, making certain she did not make any noise, but her movement instantly caught the other figure's attention. It whirled, the cloak billowing around with the motion, and faced off against Max, moving its right leg back and settling its weight into a fighting stance. The intruder then lowered the cloak's hood, revealing only a ninja mask and a second hood, concealing every feature but the eyes. It raised its left hand and gestured for Max to come at it, and she accepted the challenge without hesitation.

Max walked over nonchalantly, grinning mischievously. "You don't look so tough," she commented. Without a word, the cloaked figure shot out its right hand in a quick punch. Only Max's heightened reflexes spared her the discomfort of having the wind knocked out of her. She sidestepped quickly and grabbed the wrist of her attacker, and then hip-tossed her opponent to the floor. She then snapped out a swift kick that sent the figure sprawling. "Not tough at all," she muttered as she listened again, wondering if the noise of the brief fight had attracted any attention. The only sound that greeted her ears was the rustling of the black cloak as her foe stood once more.

"Well, you can certainly take a hit, that's for sure," she commented. "I guess you haven't had enough yet, huh?" The figure shook its head and moved forward, obviously more wary than it had been before. _Oh, this is getting boring,_ Max decided, resolving to just finish the confrontation quickly. She sent out a front kick that her opponent somehow avoided. Instinct caused Max to keep her leg moving, snapping back briefly and then forward in a roundhouse that also missed its mark. Before Max could even wonder how her genetically modified body had been too slow to hit her foe, she was grabbed and thrown off her feet.

_Damn,_ she cursed, chastising herself even as she wondered what it was that had gone wrong. In an instant Max was on her feet again, but before she could gather herself she had been hit in the solar plexus and doubled over. The cloaked figure punched her squarely in her right temple, and the room started to spin. Max lashed out blindly with her right hand, hoping at the very least to drive her attacker back a few feet, buying a few precious seconds to regain a fraction of her senses. She failed.

Max felt her hair gathered up in her foe's hand, and she jerked her head away, afraid that her bar code had been revealed. In a heartbeat, her feet were swept out from beneath her. _He's so fast,_ she realized. _As fast as me. He must be Manticore!_ The final thought brought relief and joy to her heart, rather than fear. She drew in breath to ask a question, but was greeted with a combat boot's sole smashing into her forehead, knocking her almost completely senseless. She sat there for a few more moments, woozy but with enough grasp of her surroundings to retry communicating with her opponent.

"Who... are you?" Max asked, fighting desperately to retain consciousness.

"I think the better question is... who are you, Max?" a young man's voice answered. Max looked into his bright green eyes with confusion, and saw them light up with what she could only assume was a smile. "You don't know, do you?" he asked. "Well, I guess we're going to have to remedy that situation." 

The young man reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, and a minute later was talking. "Hi, this is a concerned citizen," he began. "At this very moment I'm watching what appears to be a couple of cops beating the crap out of someone." A moment of silence followed before he continued his story. "Yeah, at the corner of Eighth and Market. You'd better get a camera crew over there in a hurry or you'll miss it." He folded up the phone and stuck it back within the folds of his outfit.

"What are you doing?" Max asked.

"I'd suggest you get your ass out of here before you get toasted," the man advised. "Your cat DNA may give you nine lives, but there's no sense in simply throwing one of them away."

Max shook her head to clear the last of the cobwebs, and for a moment considered renewing her brief fight with her adversary. Now that she knew what to expect, that he was as quick as she was, she was confident that she would not be put down so easily. Before Max could move, though, the man had produced another item, and this one gave her some pause. She immediately recognized a remote detonator, and did not want to stick around to find out how large an explosive was tied in to the detonator's signal. In a blur of motion she was headed out of the room and through the door. She felt a flash of heat on her back, and a split second later she was hurtled forward and bounced headfirst off a wall by the shock force of the explosion.

Once again she was able to maintain consciousness, but the blurry vision and nausea-inducing dizziness that assaulted her made her certain that she had received a concussion. Despite her injuries, though, Max was able to make it out onto the street and into an alley just in time to avoid getting into view of the news crew that arrived in response to the intruder's bogus call, reporting a beating across the street that never took place. The police also arrived, but with cameras on the scene, Max knew it would be impossible for the corrupt law enforcement officials to cover up the story. Norton Koch's apartment had blown up, and cash was literally raining down out of the sky and onto the streets below. Max could hardly wait to see how the story looked on the morning news.

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To be continued........................


	2. The Becoming, Part 1

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

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I

As Max slowly woke up, her mind instantly went to work making sure she was safe. Her paranoia was the result of many years spent on the run, and it had served her well several times. The first thing she realized, before she even opened her eyes, was that someone was holding her right hand. She slowly clenched her left fist and prepared to strike whoever was with her, and cracked her right eye open the slightest bit. A small amount of grayish light was coming in through the window, but even that was enough to send a bolt of pain through her head. She fought the discomfort and struggled to focus on the shape next to her bed. _Logan? _she wondered immediately. She opened her eye a slight bit more, and confirmed that it was, in fact, Logan that was sitting by her bedside. A thin smile spread across her lips, and she opened both eyes fully.

"Hi," she muttered pleasantly, somewhat puzzled at the fact that she felt so comfortable around her friend. He knew so much about her, and that made a part of Max feel vulnerable. _Still,_ she decided, _it's nice. It's sorta like having a friend the way everyone always talks about them._ She had friends from work, but none of them knew her the way Logan did. Of course, Original Cindy knew her nasty little Manticore secret, but she still had a while to go before she had the same insight that Logan had. After all, it was one thing to know about Max's secret, but it was quite another to live alongside Max for month after month as she dodged Lydecker and foreign powers that wanted her for the technology used to create her. As if those hassles weren't enough, she also constantly struggled to understand herself and stave off her all too frequent seizures. It put a bit of a strain on even the best friendships, and Max honestly could not understand why Logan had not only tolerated it all, but also always come back begging for more. 

"How are you feeling?" Logan asked, concern etched into his expression.

"A little woozy," Max admitted. "And that sunlight's a killer."

"You got a pretty bad concussion, probably even a grade 3," Logan told her as he moved over toward the window. He closed the blinds, and Max's head immediately stopped throbbing as much. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Well, how much do you know so far?" Max asked, knowing that Logan had other information sources that he had likely already tapped.

"I know that Bling found you unconscious on my doorstep last night," Logan began. Max wondered for a moment whether she had been able to get to the apartment on her own, or whether she had had any help. Try as she might, she could not remember anything past the blast of heat that had sent her careening against a wall. "There was an explosion last night in Koch's penthouse suite," Logan added. "I also know that two of his guards were found dead as a result of smoke inhalation, and four others had apparently been incapacitated. There was no sign of Koch. However, there happened to be a television news camera crew on the scene, and they were able to prevent the police from covering up too much of what happened. There was all kinds of evidence of what Koch was into. I don't think his payoffs and connections are going to help him much."

"Meaning it's time to chalk up a win for the good guys," Max said.

"Not until they have him in custody," Logan responded warily. "As long as he's on the loose, he can still cause all kinds of problems. His back is against a wall right now... he might be more dangerous than ever."

"But we're pretty much through with him," Max surmised.

"Seems that way," Logan admitted. "The authorities are on his trail, and his power has been broken. He'll have to face some kind of punishment for his crimes."

"Great," Max said, trying to sit up. Another flash of pain shot through her head as she moved, and she was immediately beset by dizziness. Within a brief moment, she was lying back down on the bed.

"Doesn't look like you'll be leaving anytime soon," Logan commented. "So you gonna tell me now what happened last night?"

"Oh, that," Max replied. "I didn't have anything to do with blowing the place up, if that's what you think."

"I didn't think you did," Logan answered with a soft, affectionate smile. "I figured you would have at least been smart enough to get far enough away before you set off a bomb. Did one of them shoot some stored ammunition or something?"

"No, there was someone else there," Max said. "He was there before I got there. By the time I showed up, the security system had been disabled and the guards taken out. I ran into him in the living room. He was dressed up in a ninja outfit with a large black cloak over it. He sorta looked like that guy from that Star Wars movie you made me watch."

"Darth Vader?" Logan asked.

"No, the other one," Max responded. "You know, the movie that had that dumb-ass alien that just wouldn't die."

"Jar-Jar?" Logan asked, his smile shifting from affectionate to amused. Max nodded. "Oh, so you mean the guy looked like Darth Maul."

"Yep," Max confirmed. "He fought like him, too. Except that he was faster, and didn't have a lightsaber."

"Faster?" Logan asked suspiciously.

"As fast as me," Max said. She figured Logan had already come to the same conclusion she had. "He was Manticore, I'm sure of it. And he knew who I was."

"But you didn't recognize him at all?" her friend asked.

"No, but he's got to be one of the ones that escaped with me, though," Max added. "If he was still with Manticore, he would have taken me out. He let me go, though. Well, after he called the news crew, that is."

"So that's who called the news?" Logan's forehead started to crease ever so slightly as the wheels in his head obviously started to turn more quickly. Max thought Logan was cute when he started to get all into his Eyes Only idiom.

"He called the news, and then set off the bomb," Max explained. "He set up the whole thing to get Koch caught."

"And you're sure you have no idea who it was? Not even a guess?"

"Not at all," Max admitted. "The only guy I've seen from the project is Zack, and I wouldn't have known him if I bumped into him on the street. We've all grown up so much, Logan. We were just kids when we escaped."

"But you said he knew you," Logan pointed out.

"He saw my bar code, I think," Max replied with a shrug. Several minutes of silence followed as Logan pondered the matter, and Max watched him, all the while wondering what it was about him that she found so sexy when he was being all intellectual.

"Alright," Logan finally said. "Why don't you stay here for the day? I know you're probably not going to sleep at all, but at least get some rest."

"I have to get to work," Max countered. "I'm late already."

"That's been taken care of," Logan said.

"What?"

"I had a doctor I know call your boss this morning," Logan answered. "He said that you had gotten a concussion last night while moonlighting at a homeless shelter."

"A homeless shelter?" Max asked dubiously. "Normal would never believe that."

"Maybe it was an orphanage," Logan pondered.

"That's even worse."

"Whatever it was, Normal said that he was surprised you had it in you to do charity work, and that he would need documentation of your injury before you would be allowed back to work," Logan said.

"That sounds more like him," Max replied.

"It's all taken care of," Logan said. "You have a couple of days off, so make the most of them. It can take up to a year for a normal human to recover fully from a concussion like the one you had. I know you're not really just one of us mere mortals, but you'll need time all the same."

"I'll be fine," Max said with a faux yawn. "Just leave me here for a little while. I'll watch some TV or something."

"Want me to put on a movie?" Logan asked.

"Sure," Max replied. "Put on that one with Darth Maul. Just make sure you give me the remote before you leave the room, though," she added. "I wanna be sure I can mute it when that Jar-Jar guy is on screen."

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II

Logan's apartment had been silent for over an hour before Max dared to start moving around. She knew that Logan wouldn't want her to leave, and while his concern was touching, it was unnecessary. Max had decided to get out for some fresh air. A day in bed was far more relaxation than she needed. She crept noiselessly around the guestroom that had slowly started to become her second home and gathered up her things. In a matter of minutes she was ready to go, and sprang out the window with catlike grace.

She made her way out onto the street, and was immediately greeted by a slightly familiar, yet muffled, voice.

"I was hoping you'd come out to play tonight," a man commented from behind her. Max whirled and came face to face with her foe from the previous evening. Once again, he was clad completely in black, from the combat boots, to the jeans, to the t-shirt and duster, and finally to the motorcycle helmet with a shaded visor that screened his face from view.

"Who are you?" Max asked warily. She didn't feel threatened, simply curious. She knew that if this man had wanted her dead, he had had at least one prime opportunity already.

"Come with me and find out," he answered evasively.

"Where?" Max asked.

"Someplace we can talk," he replied. Max could almost swear she could make out a mischievous grin underneath the visor. The tone of his voice made it clear that he enjoyed being in control of the situation.

"And where would that be?"

"My place," he said. "It's not far from here." He took a step forward, and Max instinctively took a step back. He then paused for a second, as if he was unwilling to make Max uneasy, and then gestured toward a Harley parked next to the curb. "I'm just getting on my bike, Max," he said reassuringly. "You're welcome to join me if you'd like. If not, I'll give you the address and you can walk there if you'd prefer."

"No, I'll come along," Max answered. She was confident that she could take care of herself if the situation turned ugly. True, she was possibly walking into a trap set by a genetically engineered super-soldier, but it was nothing that she had not been trained for as a child.

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"Nice digs," Max commented as she walked into the spacious apartment. She could see a kitchen with a connected dinette, a small living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. _In this neighborhood, I'll bet he also has hot running water any time he wants,_ she thought jealously. _He's done well for himself._

"It's certainly more comfortable than our childhood barracks ever were," her host replied, his voice still muffled by the motorcycle helmet that he had yet to take off.

"You plan on letting me see you anytime soon, or were just gonna wear that helmet for the rest of the night?" Max asked

"Oh, sorry, I forgot," he answered. In one fluid motion he removed the helmet without any of the suspense that Max had been expecting. After the dramatic build-up, she had figured he would slowly undo the chinstrap and begin to remove the helmet, only to hesitate for a brief moment before continuing. "Remember me?" he asked as soon as she looked at his face.

"I think so," Max said slowly, scanning his features carefully. The young man had fiery red hair and pale skin, along with the bright green eyes she had been able to see the previous night. She broadened her scope and examined his body as well, noting his compact, athletic frame. He seemed to be built virtually identically to Zack. "Robert?" she asked after another moment.

"No," the man replied. "My name's Rory. At least, it is now. I decided long ago that Robert died when we escaped from Manticore. I'm a free man now, a new man. I've found my place in this world, and I figured a new name would help represent the new me."

"Okay," Max said, unsure of what else she could say.

"Would you like some cappuccino?" he offered pleasantly.

"Real cappuccino?" Max asked skeptically. She had heard about it, but never had some.

"Yes, it's 100% real," Rory said with a smile. "Jut don't ask how I got my hands on the espresso beans." He wandered into the kitchen and started to measure espresso beans into a coffee grinder. He seemed completely at ease, and Max couldn't help but wonder why. She marveled at her host as he poured water into the top of the machine, and then set the grounds in it as well. As he worked, he started to whistle a tune that Max needed a few seconds to place. She smiled as she finally realized Rory was whistling 'Just a Gigolo.' She wondered if the song was a clue as to how he gotten such a comfortable apartment.

"Are you on any special medications that I should know about?" Max finally asked as Rory began to froth the cream.

"What?" Rory asked over the sound of the machine, unable to hide his surprise.

"You seem way too relaxed," Max commented. "I ran into Zack, and he was nothing like you. I mean, I don't exactly think I'm uptight or anything, but I'm certainly not the type to start making cappuccino for houseguests.

"I don't need any drugs to be at ease, Max," Rory explained simply. "I just know who I am." Without any further explanation, he turned back to the task of making the cappuccino. Within another couple of minutes he had walked back out to the dinette. "Here you go," he said pleasantly, handing a large cup over to his guest.

"Do I just drink it or what?" Max asked, looking at the thick foam uncertainly.

"Well, I do," Rory responded. "Sorry, I guess I should have given you a spoon, too, in case you wanted to stir in the cream."

"No, this is fine," Max said politely. She took a cautious sip, and could only smile as she tasted the cappuccino. It tasted wonderful to her, the strong coffee flavor mingling perfectly with the frothed milk.

Both of them sat in silence for several minutes before Rory finally broke into discussion. "So, Max, what exactly are you doing here?"

"Excuse me?" Max asked, thrown off-balance by his bluntness.

"In Seattle," Rory explained. "What do you do here? How do you make a living? Do you really just work as a mail courier?"

"Where did you hear that?" Max asked.

"Zack told me," Rory answered.

"Zack?"

"I ran into him in Portland a couple of weeks ago," Rory explained. "Come on, Max, think about it. It's not like many of us escaped. What do you think the chances are of two of us ever ending up in the same city just by pure coincidence?"

"Not likely," Max admitted.

"Surely not," Rory agreed. "I only came to Seattle because I heard you were here."

"Meaning?" Max asked.

"I wanted to come here to help you," Rory said, "and to ask for your help."

"My help?" Max asked. "What do you want from me?"

"Well, like I said, I know who I am," Rory replied evenly. "Or rather, I think I know," he amended. "I just want to test myself, to make certain that the conclusion I reached is the right one."

"And what was your conclusion?" Max asked curiously.

"Not yet," Rory said, avoiding the topic. "I want to talk about you, first."

"What about me?" Max suddenly noticed that she had immediately become uneasy, and her guard had been put up. She had no desire to get into an overly personal discussion with someone whom she had not seen in years. She simply hoped that the conversation stayed pretty much on the level of small talk.

"Well, like I already asked, do you really work as a courier?"

"Yes," Max answered with a smile, wondering what a fellow Manticore escapee would think of such a mundane vocation.

"Why?"

"Well, it certainly keeps me below Lydecker's radar," Max explained. "I doubt he'll ever start looking at courier companies thinking he could find me at one of them. Also, I have some friends there, so it's nice to spend time with them. The pay's not entirely bad, either, and the sector pass that comes with the job is more convenient than you can possibly imagine."

"So you don't supplement your income at all?" Rory asked.

"How do you mean?" Max did not particularly want to admit that she ran the occasional scam, or that she had been known to partake in the theft of private property. For some reason, she suddenly felt ashamed of some of her activities. It was a new experience for her.

"Most of the others have become criminals of some sort," Rory explained. "Thieves, mostly. Our training and less-than-God-given talents make us perfectly suited for that kind of work. I also heard that one of us has become an assassin."

"I'm not an assassin," Max replied. "But I have stolen a few things here and there."

"Is that what you feel you were born to do?" Rory asked pointedly.

"Come again?" Max asked in response.

"Do you think you were born to be a thief?" Rory asked.

"I was born to do what I wanted," Max answered. "It's not like there's such a thing as destiny or anything."

"Are you so sure?" Rory asked. "Have you never laid awake at night and thought about it?"

"I have plenty of other things to think about," Max shot back. "I have enough going on without trying to get all philosophical about stuff I can't control."

"So you admit there are things you can't control?" Rory asked. "Are you admitting that there's some hand that guides us through our lives, for good or for ill?"

"If you're about to tell me you've found religion and want to convert me, let me just warn you not to," Max said with a hint of menace.

"No, far from it," Rory answered. "Religion is simply a means to an end, and not an end unto itself."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Max asked, starting to fidget slightly in her seat and tap her fingertips against the cup of cappuccino.

"As I see it, all people have one of two choices," Rory explained. "We can either believe that there is no rhyme or reason to the universe, and do as we will, or we can believe that there is some kind of plan out there for us. Personally, I refuse to believe that life is random."

"Why's that?" Max asked, deciding that playing Devil's Advocate could be fun.

"Because if life is random, then it has no meaning," Rory said simply. "I believe that my life has meaning. I believe your life does, as well. I want to help you find your purpose, and have you help me discover if the course I've set for myself is indeed the correct one."

"Fine," Max answered. "So what are your thoughts?"

"We weren't born, we were created," Rory began. "So, from the very beginning, we were engineered with a specific purpose in mind."

"We're warriors," Max surmised, pretty certain where Rory's thoughts were heading.

"That's right," Rory agreed. "We were meant to advance the goals of our government. However, the universe allowed us to escape. It obviously had a different plan for us."

"And what plan is that?" Max asked skeptically.

"Well, Marcus Aurelius, and many other lesser philosophers, believed that all men were created with a clear purpose in mind," Rory responded. "Like you said, we were designed to be warriors. However, our freedom indicates that our purpose is to fight for someone other than the government. I think we're meant to fight for the innocent."

"The innocent?" Max asked with a genuinely amused smile. "And who exactly would that be?"

"There are decent people in this country, Max," Rory said. "Like that Eyes Only guy that comes on the TV once in awhile. He points out the corruption, despite the fact that he likely does so at great personal risk. I'll bet he has all kinds of money and connections. He has the means to make this world a better place, and so he does. We also have the means, Max. We were born to fight. You can't expect the average citizen to do what we do. They'd get killed. Likewise, you can't look at our abilities and expect us to remain uninvolved. Our abilities give us the responsibility to act, because if we won't do it, then who will?"

"That's a little melodramatic," Max replied.

"Is it?" Rory asked. "Let me ask you this – what were you doing at Koch's place last night?"

"That's none of your business," Max shot back immediately. She had started to grow uneasy as soon as Rory had mentioned Logan's alter ego, and now her anxiety was increasing. Part of her suspected that Rory was there to get information about Eyes Only.

"Fine," Rory replied. "I was there to take down Koch, though," he admitted. "I had a plan, and I was sure it would work. Somehow, he escaped."

"But the police are after him now," Max pointed out. "It's just a matter of time."

"In the meantime, though, he'll be free to continue business as usual," Rory replied darkly. "Every gun he sells, every young girl he abducts and sells into slavery, every drug sale that destroys another life... these are all crimes that are my fault, because I failed."

"You can't think that," Max said.

"Yes I can," Rory answered, his voice growing stronger as he obviously became more worked up. "If I had succeeded, he would be off the street. I failed. It's my responsibility."

"So what will you do?"

"It's funny you should ask," Rory replied. "I happen to know where there's a cache of weapons that Koch has been collecting to sell off to a drug cartel. I was planning on taking it down tonight."

"By yourself?" Max asked, though she already suspected the answer.

"No, actually, I was hoping you would come along and help," Rory said, confirming Max's suspicions. "We have all this wonderful training, Max. It would be a shame to let it go to waste. No, more than that... it would be a crime. You may not know exactly what it is you were meant to do, but sitting on the sidelines is obviously not it."

"I guess not," Max agreed. "You wouldn't happen to have another one of those ninja suits, would you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Rory answered with a smile. "And as luck would have it, it just happens to be the perfect size for you."

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Using the utmost caution, Rory and Max approached the small, seemingly innocuous shed located on the thinly wooded outskirts of Seattle. They knew that inside the structure were two former Navy SEALs, and an ex-Army Ranger. All three of the men they would face had received the highest level of training the United States armed services had to offer. There might have been a depression going on, but the U.S. military was still second to none. That was why no one ever considered military action against the fallen super-power, despite its apparent vulnerability. Inside the shed, the guards would have access to the most modern weapons available, from the time-tested and reliable AK-47, to the ultra-modern EMP rail gun that Walther was still testing.

Rory led the way, and Max was more than willing to let him. He had been out in the field a great deal recently, and thus had been forced to keep his skills more finely tuned than Max needed to. She might have been the toughest woman in the city, but she was not all that she could be. She spent far too many hours each day delivering packages to devote the necessary time to her training.

The pair of soldiers raced from shadow to shadow, neither one betraying their presence to any watching eyes. It was because they were being so careful that the sudden barking of a dog caught both of them off-guard. _Damnit!_ Max cursed. _There weren't supposed to be any dogs!_ By the look on Rory's face, she guessed that he was just as surprised and concerned as she was. Each of them dove behind a tree just a split second before a set of floodlights lit up the surrounding area as bright as day.

"We know someone's out there," a voice called out from the shed. "If you come out right now, we'll only cripple you. You stay out there, though, and we'll kill you."

_Good luck,_ Max thought with a wicked grin. Her bravado was greatly decreased a moment later when automatic weapons fire started tearing through the trees she and Rory were using for cover. Several rounds embedded themselves in the tree she was crouched behind, and bark and wood chips flew all around her. A brief, eerie silence followed, and Max had almost convinced herself that the guards had given up when she saw it – a jet of flame shot toward her, illuminating the woods in the dancing red glow of fire. _A flame-thrower?! You've gotta be kidding._ Small arms fire was bad enough, but the prospect of being roasted alive made Max more than frightened. Instinctively, her hand went down to her thigh and closed around the grip of the Glock 10mm that Rory had lent her.

_I don't use guns,_ she had told him. He had insisted, but she had been adamant. It was only when he had asked oh-so-nicely, with a look of concern that rivaled Logan's, that Max had relented. _I'm not going to use it,_ she now remembered telling him. He hadn't cared. He just wanted her to have it in case something completely unexpected went wrong. It seemed it just had.

Max loaded the first round into the chamber and started to gauge the distance to her target. She caught sight of Rory, and could only look on in wonder as he scaled a tree ten feet away from her. He almost seemed to be moving with the ease of a spider along a wall. Max knew Rory would be in an ideal firing position in just seconds, so she steeled herself for the effort she was about to expend.

She heard the first burst of gunfire from his MP-5, and in a blur of motion she moved from behind the tree and toward the shed. The man with the flame-thrower was collapsing in front of her eyes, and she assumed he had been Rory's target. A second man was now becoming visible, taking aim at the treetops. _I can't reach him in time,_ Max thought quickly, wondering if she was more concerned by the fact that she was going to use her pistol, or that Rory would die if she didn't. She knew she would likely only get one or two shots before her target could unleash a salvo in Rory's direction, so she needed to make her shots count. She pulled back on the trigger and felt the familiar recoil of the weapon in her palm. It sent a chill up her spine as she remembered, in a momentary flashback, the pain that she had seen firearms cause when she was only a child. A moment later, however, her mind was back where it belonged – focused on the task at hand. Two additional shots followed her first hit. She saw the man in front of her fall back a couple of steps from the velocity of the rounds she fired, but it did not actually register in her head that she had just killed a man. Her only thought was that she had simply removed one threat and gained a tactical advantage in achieving her goal. She never even noticed that she was holding the Glock more tightly than ever.

Max's mind continued to race along. _There's one left, _she reminded herself. She searched the shadows around her, and then stopped short and listened for the slightest sound. Only her genetically enhanced hearing allowed her to hear the muffled sound of breathing coming from her left. She dropped into a defensive crouch even as she whirled toward her left. In the back of her mind she heard a shot ring out. Then a second, and a third. Without thinking she returned fire, and saw her attacker jolt every time her finger twitched. She had shot him four times when the man was suddenly thrown back in a barrage of automatic gunfire. _Reinforcements,_ she realized. _Rory finally got in position to take a shot._ With all three of the known threats immobilized, the pair moved once again toward the shed.

They found the building unoccupied, as they had expected. Stacks of wooden crates holding ammunition and weapons dominated the one room, and Rory whistled with glee when he saw them. "Merry Christmas," he said with a flourish.

"I thought you said we were going to destroy them," Max said. "I thought we were gonna send a message."

"Oh, we will," Rory assured her. "First, though, I'm taking some of this stuff."

"So you're a thief, too?" Max asked. "What about all your high-minded posturing?"

"This man is a criminal," Rory explained. "I steal from him because he steals from the innocent. I wouldn't break into a normal person's home and take their stuff. But when I hit criminals, I feel free to take what I want. I use their money to support me, and their weapons to fight them. In essence, I'm a guerilla, and I become strong on what they leave behind."

"I see," Max said, appreciating the value of his argument. "So that's how you got such a nice place."

"Absolutely," Rory confirmed. "Just last night I got over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars from Koch's safe. I don't see any shame in making myself a little comfortable when I'm not fighting my war. I think I deserve it."

"Of course you do," Max muttered.

"It's what we are," Rory reminded her. "We're soldiers. If we hadn't left Manticore, all of our material needs would be taken care of and we would only be expected to fight. I'm doing the same thing, just as a private citizen. Oh, and if it makes it any easier, I usually donate fifty percent of what I scavenge to local orphanages."

"Really?" Max asked, suddenly thrown off-balance.

"I didn't have all that hard a life when I fled Manticore, but that doesn't mean I don't understand what some of these kids go through," Rory explained. "I told you before, we have a responsibility to use our abilities to help those that don't have the strength to help themselves. Haven't you been listening?"

"Yeah, I guess I have," Max admitted, pondering what Rory had been saying. She kept to herself, though, the thoughts of just how much she had enjoyed their raid against Koch's weapons cache. She had forgotten what it felt like to be in a real firefight, where her enemies actually had held a chance of winning. The shot of adrenaline had been a rush unlike anything she had felt since her childhood. _Perhaps he's right,_ she mused. _Maybe we really do have a responsibility. Maybe I've been going about my life all wrong for all this time. Maybe I'll have to start taking an active role in protecting the innocent, just like Logan does._

__

To be continued.............................


	3. The Becoming, Part 2

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

III

With the expertise born of years spent as a thief, Max slowly slid open the window to Logan's guestroom. The sun was starting to come up, and the first streaks of gray were beginning to light the pre-sunrise sky. She took a brief moment to make certain there were no police hovercraft sentries nearby, and then she hoisted herself through the window and into the room. Her feet touched down with the noiseless grace of a cat, and she took a step toward the bed, only to come face to face with Logan.

"Good morning, Max," her friend said evenly. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Wanted some air," Max muttered in reply. She could hardly believe that she actually felt guilty about having sneaked out. _It's not like he has any authority over me,_ she reminded herself. "I didn't think you'd mind at all."

"Is that why you took such great pains to sneak around?" Logan asked. His tone was certainly turning accusatory, and Max did not like it.

"I was quiet so I wouldn't wake you up," Max shot back, knowing full well that she was at least partially lying. It sickened her to know that not only was Logan right, but also that she was wrong.

"Fine," Logan answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Whatever you say. I guess you'll be leaving today?"

"Yeah, I have to get back to work."

"Would that be at Jam Pony?" Logan inquired. The tone of his voice set off Max's radar, and she immediately raised her guard. Logan was thinking something, that was for certain.

"Where else would I be working?" Max asked in response.

"I just got a call from a friend," Logan explained. "His name's Detective Lane. You ever hear of him?" Max shook her head in reply, not knowing for sure what Logan was after, but certainly having her suspicions. "He said one of Koch's arms caches got hit last night," Logan added. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Nope," Max answered. Her cool demeanor belied her inner conflict, however. _Am I ashamed of what I did?_ she wondered. _I'm a soldier. I was created to kill. I don't see why I should be getting all squirrelly about it now._

"You sure you weren't around there?" Logan pressed.

"Are you implying that you think I'm lying?" Max asked angrily. "Is that what you think?"

"I'm not saying that," Logan answered quickly. "I'm only concerned, that's all."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"I never said you couldn't," Logan responded, obviously trying to calm his friend down before the situation got even worse.

"Look, I appreciate your concern, but I'm outta here," Max muttered. She grabbed her backpack from the floor at the foot of the bed and began to walk out of the apartment.

"You don't have to go, Max," Logan called out after her.

"Got things to do," Max replied as she opened the front door and left.

As soon as she was out in the hall she started to loosen up. _I can't believe the nerve of that guy,_ she ranted silently. _Sometimes he treats me like I'm just a kid. Then other times he looks at me like he wants to bed me. What the hell is it with him?_ She continued her reverie as she reached the street and walked off into the brightening day.

****

IV

Max was not the only person faced with confusion as the morning grew brighter, the cloudy sky allowing only a pale, grayish light to descend on Seattle. Cameron Dean took a large gulp of his rapidly cooling coffee as he looked out the tinted bay window in his boss's apartment. _Backup apartment,_ Cameron reminded himself. His boss was Norton Koch, a man whom the police were very interested in detaining. He was not able to go back to his real home, and now neither could his right-hand man. _Not that going back to his real place would do us much good,_ the assassin contemplated. The large penthouse had, after all, had a huge hole blown into it by an unknown intruder. _Who the hell could it have been?_

Cameron considered the possibilities, and came back at the same conclusion he had over and over – it must have been a vigilante. A highly dangerous, extremely motivated vigilante. While Norton Koch could no longer count on his police contacts to keep him out of trouble, they could still provide a wealth of information. It seemed the police had no idea who was behind the destruction of Koch's home. That, combined with the fact that Koch assumed none of his competitors were in position to risk an assault of that magnitude, led them to a very large question mark. Cameron had first thought that a division of the police had been behind it, trying to do illegally what Koch's payoffs prevented them from doing legally. That theory had not panned out. Still, whoever it was had obviously been well trained. All of Koch's enforcers and guards, including Cameron himself, were ex-military. They were as rough and ready as one could get, but still they had been almost completely worthless.

Not only did this vigilante appear capable of a previously supposed impossible assault, but he also had been able to tip off the media. The presence of a news crew had made the situation extremely awkward. Now the police would not let up, at least not for a few weeks. Koch would have to deal with the police coming at him from one direction, while a vigilante came from the other. It was not a predicament Cameron enjoyed thinking about. _This vigilante really has a hard-on for the old man, too,_ Cameron pondered. Hitting the penthouse had not been enough. When Koch had actually escaped, presumably against all expectations, someone had hit one of his arms caches. They could only assume it had been the same person. Or people.

Perhaps it was the unknown that set Cameron ill at ease. At least he knew what to expect from the police. They had certain rules that they had to follow. Their new enemy seemed to follow only the rules to which Koch himself seemed to adhere. _That would be no rules at all,_ Cameron mused. Something would have to be done to remedy the situation quickly. Word was getting out that Koch was no longer untouchable. His underlings would soon begin to question his authority. _Assuming the boss doesn't get himself arrested or killed before then._

Even as Cameron was debating possible solutions, Norton Koch walked into the room, moving up beside his right hand man and chief enforcer. "Wasn't it supposed to be sunny today?" the middle-aged criminal asked. Cameron turned to face his employer. Only the earliest signs of age were starting to affect the man. The salt and pepper hair betrayed his years, despite the surprisingly well-honed frame. Koch wanted to live as long as he could, and he certainly took good enough care of himself to make that possible.

"I didn't hear any weather reports for today," Cameron replied absently. The assassin knew that talk about the weather was a sign that Koch was nervous. He wasn't willing to discuss their problems, so he turned to small talk. That invariably began with the weather. Cameron would have none of that. He wanted to address ways to get out of their present jam. "So what are we gonna do?" he asked pointedly.

"About what?" Koch replied.

"Either the cops or the vigilante," Cameron answered, searching for any sign of doubt or weakness on his boss's face. He saw none, despite the fact that he was certain Koch had not yet developed a plan. He seemed so stolid, though, that Cameron still felt himself growing more comfortable. The experience was almost eerie.

"There's not much we can do about the cops," Koch muttered. "There are still enough people that make a show about the First Amendment, so we can't just shut down the press. There are people all over the city that know what we're up to. In time, they'll forget us for some other bogeyman. God knows there are enough of us in the city. Once that happens, we'll make enough payments to have the cops slowly ease the pressure. Within a year things should be back to normal."

"And what about this vigilante?" Cameron asked.

"We don't know who he is," Koch answered. "In fact, we don't even know if he's a 'he' rather than a 'she' or a 'they.' We'll just have to wait for an opportunity. If he comes back again, we'll be ready. I've consolidated a lot of my positions, and increased security around them. Whoever it is will be in for a big surprise if they try to hit us again."

"It can't keep up like this," Cameron answered. "We have to lay low because of the cops, and that makes us easier targets for this guy. We have to eliminate one or the other immediately."

"Patience will serve us best here, Cameron," Koch chided in a fatherly tone. "It will all work out."

"I don't think so," Cameron disagreed. "We should take action."

"And what would you suggest?" Koch asked.

"We should kill a few cops," Cameron answered immediately. "That'll get them to back off. They're too expensive to pay off, anyway. Once they learn their place, we can concentrate on taking out this yahoo that thinks he can mess with us."

"No," Koch said evenly. "Right now only the honest cops are pursuing us with any true diligence. If we start killing some of them, even the crooked ones that would otherwise take our money and look the other way would begin to look to take us down."

"We'll make them an offer they can't refuse," Cameron replied, quoting one of his favorite movies. "These guys have families. They're not going to come after us if they know their lives will be forfeit."

"It's not the way things are done," Koch replied wearily. "It's just bad business."

"Then business should change," Cameron shot back. "Seattle is there for the taking. You just have to show you have the will to take it. Come on, Norton. We can do this."

Norton Koch turned to his underling with a look of disappointment in his eyes. "Haven't I taught you better than that, Cameron?" he asked. "If anything happens to me – if I get arrested by the cops, or killed by this vigilante – you'll be left to take over. You're one of the brightest people I've ever met, but you lack patience. You're a man of action, I know that, but you have yet to learn that violence is only a last resort. Once you've begun a show of force, you can no longer take any other action. Violence is a path that cuts off all other options. As you always say, our enemies need to know that we're capable of killing. To have them suspect otherwise would undermine our position. But they also need to know we can be reasonable. To be otherwise is to be a monster that everyone – the police, the vigilantes, and the normal citizens – would have to put down."

"Fine," Cameron said angrily. "We'll do it your way. But if things go down the tubes, don't expect me to never say I told you so."

"Believe me," Koch said with a strained smile, "I would never expect you not to take every opportunity to remind me about how you feel you knew better."

****

V

Max decided to skip work, knowing that anyone who suffered a severe concussion would not be expected to show up only a day later. She would only arouse suspicion by going in to Jam Pony looking none the worse for wear. At least, that was what she told herself. In reality, she really had no use for continuing the humdrum, menial tasks of her life. With Rory she had been presented with a whole new set of options. The possibilities intrigued and excited her. _Why should I go to work when I can make a much better living doing what Rory does?_ she wondered.

Max wandered aimlessly through the streets of Seattle, not particularly interested in where she was or where she was headed.

_Who am I?_ The question ran through her mind, time after time, each word taking on a life of its own. _Who am I?_ Max searched for an answer to the question, hoping she would find an identity that fit her. _I'm Max,_ she decided. That answer certainly did not suit her, though. 'Max' was only a name, and not an identity. Deciding that she was 'Max' did little to quell the doubts that had begun to rise up within her, like an angry mob searching for a voice. She pondered the matter further and decided she had to be more than just a name.

_I'm a soldier,_ she told herself, thinking that would be enough. She quickly decided, though, that it was not. For the first several years following her birth, she had been trained as a soldier – that much was true. Her entire body, from the genetic level on up through the benefits of a daily physical training regimen, was every bit a soldier's body. She could not bring herself to conclude that she was a soldier, though. She had simply spent too much time away from that life.

_I'm a delivery girl_? she asked herself doubtfully, the thought seeming absurd even as she considered it. Making deliveries was what she did, but not who she was. She truly believed that she was so much more than a courier. _Well then why are you doing that for a living? _ she asked herself. The question hit her hard, and she had trouble finding an answer.

_It's certainly not because I like the work,_ she concluded immediately. _And it sure as hell ain't the money._ She remembered the friends she had made at Jam Pony, and realized that they were part of her reason for staying there, but certainly not the only one. She knew full well that she would be able to spend time with her friends even if she no longer worked with them, so they provided no incentive for her to stay.

_Is it really to stay below Lydecker's radar?_ she wondered. She had said as much to Rory, but no longer believed that it was entirely true. Ever since Max had saved Lydecker's life at the genetics conference, she had ceased to be so completely afraid of him. He was only human, and therefore was much less than she was. He was far from being the bogeyman she had built him up to be over the years. He was, in fact, no match for her if it ever came down to it. The only power he had ever held over her was fear – fear of being caught, fear of the treatment she would receive if she was, and fear of the loss of the freedom that had come to mean so much to her. She had overcome her fears, though. Now Lydecker held no true power over her. She was free of his influence.

_So why am I a courier?_ she asked herself again, once more returning to her main quandary. She looked around, found that she had arrived outside a small coffeehouse, and walked inside. She ordered a small latte and biscotti, and then sat in a shadowy corner, resolving to come to a conclusion about herself. Rory had asked her who she was, and she had decided that she would be able to give him and answer the next time they saw each other.

_I am not a courier,_ she decided. Her skills were not exactly developed in that area, and she was doing herself a disservice by avoiding her true self. _I was created to be a soldier. Like Rory says, that creates a responsibility in me. Just as a great poet has a responsibility to use his gift to bring insight and happiness to his fellow man, so do I have a responsibility to use my gifts to serve people._ She sat back and confronted a new question. _So, how do I serve them?_ This, Max knew, was the vital question. The answer would provide her with the solution to her other, greater question. To decide how to serve her fellow man would be to discover who she was.

_I could be like Rory,_ she knew, though the thought did not entirely entice her. He planned to go around to all of the Manticore escapees and present them with the same question. His service was to his fellow project members, and not directly to the populace at large. True, his encounters with the others might get other Manticore members to start using their abilities constructively, but that was just a bonus of Rory's true mission. _No,_ Max decided, _I want to be like Rory is in this city. I'll stay here. Seattle has become my home now._ She suddenly knew how Logan had felt when he had reached the decision to become Eyes Only. He had laid everything on the line to do what he felt was right. Now Max was doing the same.

She had seen Logan work, and seen his endeavors succeed and fail. She would pick up where his efforts left off. Eyes Only could do a great deal for the citizens of Seattle, but he could not do everything. Sometimes, harsher methods were needed. Like Logan, Max would bring the residents of Seattle what they truly needed – justice. With that thought, her face lit up in a bright smile.

_I am Justice,_ she realized. _That is who I am, and that is what I will bring to my fellow man._ Her beeper suddenly interrupted her reverie. She looked down and saw a number she did not recognize, and concluded that it had to be Rory. _The timing is almost eerie,_ she thought. _It's almost like he knew exactly when to call me._

She walked across the floor to a pay phone, and returned the call.

"Hey," Rory's voice came from the other end of the line. "I have some good news."

"What?" Max asked excitedly.

"I found Koch," Rory said evenly. "He's at a large apartment that he holds through a dummy corporation. I think we can get our hands on him and end this."

"Want me to meet you at your place?" Max asked.

"As soon as possible," Rory confirmed.

Max hung up the phone and started walking quickly away. _Justice,_ she thought, over and over. Koch was a thief and a murderer. He had preyed on his fellow citizens, and instilled fear in them to force compliance with his wishes. Any who opposed him were killed. Max could think of only one way to bring justice to such a man. _He must die,_ she decided. _Justice has spoken._

To be continued.............................


	4. The Becoming, Part 3

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

VI

At first glance, the apartment building in which Norton Koch was supposedly hiding did not appear like much. It was plain, and only stood seven stories. _It's solid, though,_ Max realized after examining the structure more thoroughly. The building was certainly at least a hundred years old. _As the saying goes, they don't build 'em like they used to._

Max crouched down behind a white, classic 1986 Cutlass Supreme, and checked her equipment. She had already gone over it all once, and knew it was fine. It had been too long, though, since she had been in combat, and her nerves were getting to her. She simply hoped she had enough weapons – two Glock 10mm's, an H&K MP-5, and, just in case, a Beretta 3032 Tomcat hidden in an ankle holster. The body armor she was wearing still seemed bulky and distracting, but she knew that her unnaturally developed abilities would more than make up for the encumbrance of the vest. She would still be at least two steps faster than any of the competition.

"You ready?" she heard Rory's voice ask. He was speaking through a sub-vocal communicator, and Max knew the sound of his voice meant that he was likely in position on the rooftop above her. The plan was simple – she would enter the building from the ground floor and fight her way to the top. Rory would fire a line from the roof across the street, ride a pulley down to Koch's rooftop, and then take Koch's men from the top floor.

"I'm ready when you are," Max muttered. Without even waiting for a response she stood up and walked toward the building. A slight gust of wind rustled the bottom hem of the heavy black cloak she was wearing, providing just enough movement of the fabric to make it virtually impossible to detect the sub-machinegun concealed beneath. 

There was a guard waiting outside the building at the front door. He saw Max approaching and immediately went for the .45 cal. pistol he had under his jacket. _He fires that and the element of surprise is gone,_ Max thought. Even as the thought crossed her mind, her legs were already beginning to race toward her target. In the mere heartbeat it took the professional guard to reach into his jacket, draw his pistol, and bring it to bear, Max had crossed the twenty feet separating her from her opponent and grabbed his forearm in her vice-like grasp. In a lightning-fast motion she then sent a palm-heel strike into his chin. She felt the man's jaw crack and teeth smash under the force of the impact, but to his credit, he did not even whimper. Instead, he used his free hand to grab Max's hood and pull her to the ground. In an instant he was straddling her, blood dripping from his mouth down onto the black fabric of her ninja mask.

In one quick motion Max shot her knee up into the man's groin, and then rolled to her left. Her right hand then shot out, catching his throat with a knife-hand strike. Max felt her opponent's windpipe crack, and knew that he would not be raising an alarm anytime soon. That would simply be too much to expect of a man that was straining futilely for his final breaths. Without giving the sentry another thought, Max stepped up to the front door of the apartment building. It was locked, but that did not concern her in the least. All that was stopping her was a simple mechanical lock. Thieves in this neighborhood were deterred by an increased police presence, not by any impressive security measures.

Once the door was opened, Max stepped inside and walked quickly through the main hall to the stairwell. Norton Koch owned both the sixth and seventh floors, so there was no telling where he would be. That was the main purpose behind Rory and Max splitting up. They wanted to ensure that Koch would not be able to escape through an exit to the roof if their assault was delayed on the sixth floor. This way, they would pin him between them in a two-man pincer movement.

Max started up the stairs quickly, keeping to the walls and not making a noise. There were guards a few floors up, she could tell that much. She assumed the door from the sixth floor would be guarded. She would first have to immobilize the sentries, and then continue to the seventh floor door into the main stairwell. There she would place a claymore mine, just a little insurance that Koch would not be able to escape. Neither she nor Rory were taking any chances this time.

A flurry of motion and a couple of minutes to set the mine were all that Max needed. Before she knew it, she was standing back at the door to the sixth floor, two dead guards lying at her feet. She did not even bother to admire her own handiwork, the byproduct of years of training at Lydecker's feet. Max had snapped the necks of both men before either one could make a sound. It was quick and effective. She looked over the lock to the sixth floor, and out of habit let out a small groan when she realized it was a maglock with an electronic passkey. Then Max's mood brightened when she realized that one of the guards was certain to have a key card. A quick search produced the item, and she prepared to unlock the door.

"I'm in position," she muttered.

"Me, too," came the response.

"Then let's go," Max said. She then slipped the card into the lock, opened the door, and began shooting. One man fell, then another, and another. Max fired through a narrow hallway at a fourth sentry standing at the far end. The man was firing a Beretta 9mm with an extended clip, and Max silently counted the shots that came her way. _Fifteen... sixteen... seventeen..._ then a pause. Max decided her target had not loaded an eighteenth round into the chamber, and so she dashed down the hallway, covering the distance in an inhumanly short amount of time. She heard the guard slide a new clip into his weapon just as she rounded the corner and emptied the rest of her own clip into him. Then she whirled and fired a round from a second weapon in her left hand. A split second later, a fifth guard fell lifeless to the floor, victim of a head shot.

-------------------------------------------------

Upstairs on the seventh floor, Cameron Dean was one of the first to react rationally to the gunfire below. He organized his men, Norton Koch's last line of defense, and ordered them to fan out and guard all the doorways. Less than a minute later it became clear that whoever was below had help on the seventh floor. Cameron heard a new wave of gunshots erupt from two rooms over, and he looked at his boss and saw a flash of panic. _The old man knows he's probably done for,_ Cameron realized.

"Bobby, get to the door to the stairwell," Cameron ordered. "Make sure that way is clear." Bobby, one of the newest guards and therefore low man on the totem pole, nodded in understanding. A moment later a loud blast came from the direction of the stairwell. Debris shot through the entire level as metal shrapnel from the claymore mine tore through the plaster walls. _Thanks for setting off the booby trap_, Cameron thought quietly, commending Bobby on his last act. "This way!" Cameron then yelled to Koch.

The older criminal moved behind his right-hand man, his look of resolve making it clear that he had gathered himself together once again. Koch's moment of weakness had been fleeting, to say the least. The kingpin drew a .357 Magnum from a shoulder holster and followed quickly as Cameron yelled out commands to his underlings. _They only have to hold off our pursuers for a few more seconds,_ Cameron knew. _Then I'll be free._ The assassin reached the stairwell and looked down quickly, pausing for only a cursory evaluation to make certain that there were no more armed assailants or readily identifiable traps. He saw none, and moved out quickly. As soon as the two men were halfway to the sixth floor, Cameron turned back to his boss with a smile on his face.

"You know, whoever these guys are, they're not going to let up until they get their claws into you," Cameron said evenly. "And since you're with me, that puts me in danger. Still, it wouldn't be good business for word to get out that I deserted you, either. I would never be able to take over your operation that way. I would never be able to get respect."

"What are you talking about?" Koch asked. The only response Cameron gave was a quick flick of the wrist to bring his 9mm to bear, and a single round through Koch's forehead. The mobster slumped to the floor and fell halfway down the flight of stairs. _Now maybe I'll have a chance,_ Cameron decided.

The assassin raced down the stairs, taking them three and four at a time, all the while making certain he did not misstep and roll an ankle on the way down. That would likely slow him down enough to get him killed. He reached the ground floor, ran out the front door, and down the street, not bothering to get his car. He figured the time it took to start the engine might be all Koch's attackers would need to catch up. He ran for several blocks, never daring to look back until he reached a police station. Only then did he slow down as a smile crossed his face. _No one would dare start shooting at me here,_ he decided. Finally feeling safe, he wandered over to a parked Chevy, pulled out a slim-Jim, and opened the door. It had been years since he had stolen a car, but he found the skills were like riding a bike. It was something that came back immediately.

-------------------------------------------------

At Norton Koch's apartment, Max and Rory finally met up on the seventh floor, surrounded by destruction and fresh corpses. "Where is he?" Max asked breathlessly. "Did you get him?"

"No," Rory admitted. "Someone tried to get out to the stairwell, just like we figured, and set off the mine. Seems Koch ran out right after that. His body's on the stairs."

"You didn't do it?" Max asked.

"No," Rory answered. "I figure either one of his own guys did it, or he did it himself. I don't know for sure, and to tell the truth, I don't much care. Looks like the job is done."

"Yep, looks that way," Max agreed.

"We'd better get out of here before the cops show up," Rory pointed out. "I'll meet you at my place." Max nodded in reply, and both of Manticore's escaped soldiers slipped out under cover of darkness, their black ninja outfits and cloaks allowing them to blend into the shadows well enough to avoid detection by arriving police units.

****

Epilogue

"You know, you seem different somehow," Rory commented as he threw two Glock 10mm's into a backpack. Max thought it was amazing that Rory could fit all of his belongings into so small a bag. He seemed to have absolutely nothing to tie him down.

"I think I've become what I was meant to be," Max commented evenly. "I'm not sure yet whether that's good or bad, but time'll tell." Max looked her 'brother' up and down, trying to figure out what Rory was thinking. It seemed a futile exercise. "So you think you'll ever come around this way again?"

"Maybe," Rory answered evasively. "I have a lot of the others to find. Through them I can learn more about myself, and maybe help them figure out more about themselves."

"Just like me," Max said with a grin.

"Just like you," Rory agreed, a thin smile spreading across his own face. "So you really think you know who you are now?"

"I think I have a clue," Max replied. She kept to herself the thrill that she had experienced, the incredible rush that the adrenaline had provided. In the end, the only truly important thing was the incredibly comfortable feeling of it all, as if she had finally been doing what was completely natural for her. That is what had meant the most. That is what Rory had revealed to her. "I'll see where this all takes me."

"As long as you never give up searching for answers," Rory said. "You became complacent once already, try not to ever let that happen again. Just like the sun rises and sets, and like the seasons change every year, so will you change little by little over the course of your life. You may be happy with the decisions you've made about yourself for now, but this role might not work for you after a few years."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Max asked. She suddenly had the suspicion that Rory had something very specific in mind.

"You're a big girl," Rory responded. "Figure it out for yourself." He looked his sister over for a few moments, and Max had the definite feeling that Rory was deciding whether or not to add anything to their little exchange. "So how do you think Logan's gonna like the new you?"

"Logan?" Max asked. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

"You're the only one that can really answer that question, aren't you?" Rory inquired in reply. "How do you feel about him? How does he feel about you? How will he feel about the new role you've embraced?"

"He doesn't need to know about that," Max said evenly. An uncomfortable moment of silence followed as Rory gazed deeply into Max's eyes.

"I see," he said finally.

"What?"

"No, I can't tell you," Rory replied. "I'll just leave you with one last question. Why is it that Logan doesn't need to know?"

"What?" Max asked, thrown completely off guard by the question. Rory looked at her for a few moments more, seeming as if he was deciding whether to add anything further. Finally, he sighed.

"Do you want to keep it quiet because you feel he would disapprove?" Rory muttered, appearing as if he was reluctant to say any more. "If he would disapprove, would that matter to you? Or do you simply want to keep a side of your personality to yourself? What would that say about your relationship with Logan if you wanted to keep things from him?" Rory looked Max over for a few brief seconds, and then smiled mischievously. Max was amazed at how fluid her brother's moods seemed to be. "It seems the answers you've found have only led to more questions, Max," he continued in a far lighter tone. "That's good, though. Never fool yourself into believing that you've found all the answers. Keep questioning everything, and nothing should ever take you by surprise." Without another word, Rory picked up the backpack and walked toward the door.

"That's it?" Max asked. "You're just leaving now?"

"Unlike you, I've discovered all about myself that I can in this city," Rory replied. "The apartment's been paid for up through the next three months. I talked to the manager, too. If you want to take it over when the next payment is due, he'll let you have it. So feel free to make a haven for yourself here. With the road you've chosen, I think you'll need a safe, comfortable place to crash from time to time." With nothing more than a wink, Rory then opened the door and walked out, leaving Max standing behind in the apartment.

_No, I don't want him to leave like this,_ Max decided. _I want to know more._ She walked out after him, only to find an empty hallway. She knew she could probably chase him down if she tried hard enough, but gave up on the idea quickly. Max knew that Rory had simply wanted to disappear for the time being, and part of her felt that things were the way they should be.

_Seattle is all mine, now,_ she realized. _It's time to do my job. It's a good thing Justice hardly ever needs to sleep._

Fin

(for now, at least)

****

Final Note: Like I said initially, this is the end of the first story. If you're interested in reading more in this AU universe, continue on with _Way of the Warrior._

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